


First Meet

by Llewcie



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Ableist Language, Allusions to dubcon sex, Complete, Darko is a dick, Darko/Nigel (mentioned), Dubcon is not between Adam and Nigel, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Not ruling out the possibility that the dubcon sex was also underage, Oneshot, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Sentinels and Guides are known, Synesthesia, crime lord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: Nigel manifested as a Sentinel when he was 14, too late to bond with just any Guide.  Now he needs one, and Darko's brought him the best that money and favors could buy.





	First Meet

Nigel was fourteen years old when he manifested as a Sentinel. Late, but poverty had a lot to do with it, and the abuse to his body and psyche had combined to curtail his natural talents until extreme trauma made the decision for him. He was working as a mule to outposts in Darko's criminal empire, and one of the little plastic-wrapped pods of cocaine burst in his stomach and he OD'd right on the street in the middle of rush hour in downtown Bucharest.

By the time Darko tracked him down, in City Hospital, the drug delivery had been forced out of his body (and confiscated in lieu of hush money) and he was zoning, entirely comatose except for his dangerously elevated pulse and respiration. The hospital had an on-staff Guide on hand for this sort of thing, but it still took her over two days to talk him out, and by then, he had been sold to Darko for the price of a quarter kilo of cocaine and hospital bills.

Nigel's life improved dramatically, but it was Darko who couldn't believe his luck. Sentinels were extremely rare, perhaps one in a million, and it was almost impossible for a Sentinel to slip through the system, especially in urban areas were children were born in hospitals, and blood tests for potential were done as a matter of course. The babies that tested with potential were watched carefully and often pulled early to special schools. If nothing manifested by the age of eighteen, they were generally hired into government positions, or military. But Nigel hadn't been born in a hospital, and the mahala he had come to age in didn't have doctors to spare for the relatively healthy. That Darko had an unregistered Sentinel on his payroll was an incredible stroke of luck-- it meant that he would be keeping the boy for himself.

Although he had lost his freedom, Nigel now had plenty of food to eat, and a clean bed in a private room, and for an orphan who had lived his entire life fighting for every scrap, it was an acceptable trade, at least for the time being. Nigel was given private tutors for his schooling and for battle training. He learned to fight with his body as well as his mind, to shoot a gun and a sniper rifle with precision, to use his body and his elevated senses to thoroughly seduce his targets. When attempts to bond him with one of Darko's selected Guides initially failed, he was taught to control himself, to monitor his senses tightly, to dial them up and down with deliberation. Nigel learned everything with a hungry ferocity that gratified Darko immensely. From the painfully thin boy in threadbare denim to this sharp, sleek creature, he became the monster in the dark, Darko's deadly shadow, his razor smile cutting as deep as any of his blades.

The second time he zoned, at the age of twenty-two, it lasted three days. One moment he had heard the melodic chime of two glasses clinking together, and the next he was flat on his back in a hospital, hooked up to a drip and a heart monitor, and as weak as a kitten. Darko came to visit him later that day, promising that he would find Nigel a guide that would be a perfect fit, a killing machine just like him, and together they would rule the Romanian underworld, and why stop there. Nigel nodded, and swore he would get better.

Three weeks later, it happened again. 

This was unsustainable.

***  
Nigel rode in the back of the limo, his senses dialed down to spare himself the telling remains of the unpleasantness that had often played out there. Urine and blood were stained deep into the leather, and a distinctive smell that Nigel identified as the terror a person felt at the moment they realized they were on an irreversible course to their own death. It was pungent, and no matter how often Nigel himself was the agent of it, it still raised his hackles. He had given up on asking Darko to clean it though-- short of replacing the entire backseat, leather and hardware and all, there would be no getting rid of it. He tolerated it, muted to human-standard, and stared out the window as the waking city crawled slowly, slowly on its knees toward the misery of its existence.

Darko turned around to face him, his hair sleeked back and his jaw clean-shaven, cologne of bitter oranges and unpleasant chemical undertones. Nigel had learned to ignore it like he ignored a hundred thousand other minor annoyances because Darko made it worth his time. Over the years of their acquaintance, Darko had held and loosed his leash and collared his neck with purpling fingerprints as he fucked him steadily from behind. They had been slave and master and they had been dog and owner, and as Nigel aged they were flirting with something much more professional, because Nigel had turned out to have a deadly knack for the business. Finding a Guide to keep Nigel steady would likely eliminate any remaining sexual overtones to their relationship, but Darko had indicated he was willing to let that go-- he really preferred women, and Nigel's powerful body had long since lost that waiflike quality of the half-starved. No matter-- Nigel didn’t particularly care either way. Sex to him had always been just another thing to endure. Neither of them would lose sleep over it.

"I know that there will be someone here that will suit you," Darko asserted, confidence leeching off of him like the reek of his perfume. "One in particular, the daughter of one of my Board, looks very promising." He grinned, and Nigel grinned with him, because he knew what "promising" meant to Darko. Promising meant he hadn't fucked her yet because her mother was very, very good at both acquiring resources and vanishing annoyances and Darko didn't want to piss her off. But if things didn't work out with Nigel, eh, something could likely be worked out elsewhere, to everyone's satisfaction.

Nigel raised both eyebrows. "I don't know if you are encouraging or dissuading me, Darko." Darko gave him a wry side-eye, and Nigel chuckled. "You know that this bonding business, it either works or it fucking doesn't, and if I actually had a choice I would be wooing the governor's daughter right now instead of sitting in this reeking car with your ugly ass."

"Fuck you, you ungrateful little bitch," Darko sallied back. "This ass is the best ass you'll ever lay a hand on."

Nigel grunted. "The only time I ever laid a hand on your ass is when you fucked me on my back, and that wasn't often, you selfish prick." 

Darko waved a careless hand at him. 'It was always easier for you if you didn't have to watch." And Nigel, in that moment, realized it was true. He was strangely moved that Darko might have, even nominally, wanted something to be easier on him. How uncharacteristic. It didn't put even a minor dent in his impenetrable sarcasm.

"And all these years I thought you didn't love me."

Darko flashed him a shark's smile, and didn’t reply. 

When they arrived at the school, they were ushered in to the tastefully carpeted halls of the Administration building. Nigel walked with a confidence he was perfectly capable of faking, thank you very much, slowly dialing himself up in preparation to be disappointed again. As he walked, he focused on listening to the steady thrum of heartbeats surrounding him. Darko, with his faint arrhythmia. Margot Vaduva, Dean of the college, whose heart was rabbiting nervously. A grouping of heartbeats a few rooms over with the same elevated nerves, all of them thin and reedy to his ears.

It was going to be a long, tedious day. He smoothed his tailored Tom Ford suit neatly against his body and strode onward, hoping at least that Dr. Vaduva had supplied them with plenty of good alcohol. He allowed himself to be led to the exhibition hall, and no, the irony of being exhibited did not escape him. The room was decorated as if for a wedding reception, and several people were milling about, pretending- poorly- to socialize. Nigel could physically feel the tension in the room escalate as he walked over the threshold. It slithered over his skin like wet silk, and he resisted a shiver. The unbonded Guides stared at him hungrily, and he stared back with a cool indifference he didn't feel. 

He felt nothing at all. 

In the years of his education, he had spoken with both bonded Guides and bonded Sentinels. They both talked about a pull that could not be ignored, and Nigel heard them but it wasn't anything he had any frame of reference for. Just words. Different for everybody, they told him, which was not remotely helpful. As he walked among the small bundles of people, anticipation turned to ash. The Board member's daughter sailed up to him and confidently shook his hand-- _actually fucking touched his skin_ and there was nothing but the low drone of her internal processes. He shook his head at her. Shame, because if he had it in him to fake it, she would be a lovely distraction. Her smile fell away, and she dropped her hand, flushing. He could feel the heat from where he was standing. Behind him, he heard Darko grunt in disappointment, or possibly anticipation. 

Nigel turned to him to raise both eyebrows, his lips pressed together in resignation. No one in the room 'called' to him, whatever that was supposed to mean. Another fucking day. He turned to head to the bar.

Except…

A chime rang through the air, piercing his ear. It was high and as clear as water, a sonorous oscillation, beautiful and delicate. He lifted his face to the ceiling, slowly, stilling his heart so that he could hear it more clearly. His eyes closed of their own accord, and his lips parted, as if he could taste the air where it shimmered. It was exquisite, and sharp, and he wanted to listen to it forever.

He turned to ask Darko if he could hear that extraordinary sound, and his cheek hit something soft and rough-textured. No, that wasn't quite right. His body was heavy, pressed against a wall, or a floor. Yes, the floor. Nigel listened for the sound, and it was still there, but it was now a voice. "Sir?" it said. "Sir, can you hear me?" Nigel breathed in, filling his lungs with the intoxicating aroma of that voice, as deep as a star field. He licked his lips to taste that voice, opened his eyes to better hear it. A man kneeled next to him, close (not close enough). He was slight of build and wearing an ill-fitting bartender's tuxedo jacket with a wrinkled white oxford shirt underneath. Nigel could hear that the discreet earbuds in his ears were tuned to NPR. Thick dark curls fell over his forehead, over soft grey-green eyes and a lush pink mouth, lips parted. He smelled of bleach and alcohol, but layered underneath was the richness of warm, clean skin, his natural scent the most mouth-watering thing Nigel had ever smelled. 

"Get the fuck away from him, little man." That was Darko, hurting his ears, his eyes. Nigel grimaced, shot out a hand to squeeze his fingers around a thin wrist. The man looked frightened, eyes arrowing between Darko and Nigel, forearm tensing beneath Nigel's hand. Nigel could smell his fear, but even stranger, he could sense it. 

"Darko, back the fuck off. Get everyone out of here, immediately," he grated, his throat tight. Everything hurt but the sweet, calming presence of the man, and Nigel would commit murder before willingly letting him go. Different for everyone, for fuck's sake, but he had never heard about a single Sentinel that ended up on his back at First Meet. Immediately after, yes, for different reasons which he intended to explore thoroughly as soon as he could get them into bed, but not at the moment of contact. 

Darko loomed into his field of vision, scowling at him, "What the fuck are you about, Nigel?" But there was a slow realization, a dawning horror in his eyes as he began to put the pieces together. He shook his head. "No, no fucking way, are you fucking kidding me? No Sentinel of mine is going to bond with a stray dog, an inbred mutt like this. Nigel, he's fucking defective! He's the fucking _help_ , for fuck's sake!"

The man turned to Darko, his expression suspended between resignation at the string of insults and wonder at the touch of the Sentinel beneath him as they threads of their bond began to lace together. "I've been working at this college for seven years. I have a perfect attendance record. I can make over five hundred different drinks from memory. Being on the Autism Spectrum does not make me defective, nor am I a product of incest. Or a homeless animal." His voice was clear and low, calmly modulated, and it sang to Nigel like a pure note of music rising above all other sound. Nigel reached up to touch his face, everything else forgotten, the sputtering of Darko regulated to so much background noise. He thumbed over the curve of the man's cheek, and the man turned into his touch. "Is your name Nigel?"

Nigel hummed in acknowledgement, and nodded. "What's yours, gorgeous?"

The man blushed, his hands lifting to press against Nigel's chest. "Adam Raki. I'm a bartender here for the college."

"Not anymore."

Adam huffed a laugh, his eyes focused on Nigel's mouth. "What is happening to me? I can feel you inside my head." Nigel could feel Adam too, through their fledgling link that threaded golden through skin and thought. It wasn't like mind reading at all, although he could feel Adam's wonder, and his background fear of Darko. 

A sharp sound now, and angry. Someone shouting. And then Adam was torn out of his grasp, the fragile link popping like meat being ripped from the bone. The pain was immediate and astonishing-- agony screamed in Adam's voice. Nigel heaved, his gorge rising as he emptied his stomach helplessly onto the rough carpet, over and over, and then it all went deep, deep red.

***

_"…is fucking ridiculous. This fucking school is full of fucking Guides. What the fuck am I paying you…?"_ Something, some cold hand gripped his arm, and all he wanted to do was vomit again. It hurt. He tried to tell someone how much it hurt. 

_"Nigel?"_

It wasn't the right voice. He turned away from it, dragging himself back into the darkness.

***

There were more hands on him, more voices. Angry, pleading, cajoling, but none of them were the right voice. Nigel was drifting, the discordant fracture of a bell coruscating against the inside of his brain. He twitched away from the cold touches if he could. Most of the time he was too tired, and exerting the effort was beyond him. A small, coherent part of him knew he was being kept alive with machines, with needles in his arms. If this was dying, it was taking too long.

***

_Nigel._

_Nigel, it's Adam. It's me, Nigel. Please wake up._

_Nigel, please don't die._

***

When he opened his eyes it was to a dimly lit room. He breathed in, and his chest expanded against something heavy and warm. A long hum vibrated next to his ear. "Are you awake, Nigel?"

"Adam?" Nigel shifted on his back, and the warm body pressed against him shifted as well, until solemn grey eyes looked into his. Nigel smiled and stroked a hand through the dense curls on top of Adam's head. He felt a rush of relief and satisfaction that was not his own, though it complemented how he felt. He probed tentatively at the bond to find it intact, a soft glow of warmth and contentment, and he sighed out in relief. "How long?" His voice was raw.

"Hmm? Oh, they managed to keep me away for three days, but you were dying, and Darko decided he would rather have an "inbred defective dog" bonded to his Sentinel than a dead Sentinel." Nigel could feel the entire range of emotion behind this, though Adam's voice was flat. Residual fear, resignation, anger, and over all of it, the desperate concern for Nigel's life and health. Nigel tightened his hands over Adam's body, nuzzling into the sweet smell of him. "And I've been with you in this bed for another day on top of that, talking to you this whole time, except when I slept, and then I was dreaming you instead." He paused, and tucked his head back down on Nigel's chest. "The bond repaired itself almost immediately, and you've been sleeping."

Nigel sighed softly, too comfortable to feel the cold anger that he knew was developing, to be kept and nurtured until it was a blade well-honed. Darko would learn unequivocally that If he ever fucked with Adam again, a quick death would be too much to hope for. But now he just wanted to luxuriate in the incredible, lush depth of his own contentment. "You feel so good, Adam."

Adam wriggled deeper into his body, pleasure and happiness are the forefront of his mind. "My mind has never been quiet like this before. I want to stay like this forever. Please never leave me."

Nigel clutched onto him, tightly, and pressed a kiss against his neck. "Never, darling. I'd follow you into death."

"Good."


End file.
